


A Rare Thing

by toyhto



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: A horse a monster and a swordfight, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, And a bit of fluff, And perhaps humor depending on your taste, Angst, Dark-ish Fairy Tale meets Romantic Comedy, M/M, Or The Witcher AU no one asked for, Romance, a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: Eames hunts monsters for a living. Arthur is a monster.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 127





	A Rare Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to StephG for betaing this story!
> 
> Have I been watching The Witcher on Netflix, oh yes, I have. This story is inspired by it really more than a little, but you don't need to know anything about The Witcher to read this. Trigger warning for dub/con elements: there's sex under a charm mentioned, not between A and E though. But really, I was TRYING to write a dark fairy tale with Arthur being a monster and Eames falling in love with him when he's supposed to be killing him, BUT I feel like I wrote a fluffy romantic comedy in a fantasy setting with some dark-ish humor. So, maybe read this and see for yourself. I'm on [tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com), you're welcome to say hi to me there too!

He had only been in town for two days, when he heard about it. The men in the tavern were talking about it with drinks in their hands and laughter in their mouths. But as these things often went, none of the talkers had actually met the thing. He listened to their tales and frowned at their laughter that died in the late hours of night and turned into badly disguised fear. When he finally left the tavern, there was a streak of light inhe sky above the rooftops. He was going to have a few hours’ sleep and not think about the monster. He was on a vacation, after all.

The next day, someone stopped him on the street. He gave the boy his most efficient look, the one that meant  _ excuse me, sir, but would you be so kind and fuck off or you shall lose an arm.  _ Something like that. He had spent countless moments perfecting that look and it worked quite well these days.

He had no luck this time. Ten minutes later, he was standing in the middle of a hall in a very fancy house. There was a draft that had him wishing he had worn warmer clothes for the day. But he was on a goddamn vacation. There had been absolutely no reason for him to expect to get dragged into a place like this today.

Of course it was about the thing in the woods, the one that had been talked about in the tavern. He knew it and still he hoped it would’ve been something else. Maybe the lord of this very nice town just wanted to say hello. Maybe the lady of the house had seen him walking the street and was looking for someone to keep her bed warm – an offer he certainly would have declined, but not impolitely.

“I’ve heard about you,” said the man in a very purple shirt, stopping a few feet away as if unaware what to do with him. “There are people who think you’re the best in what you do.”

“I am,” Eames said and took a step closer. The man retreated two steps. “But I didn’t come here for work.” He had come here to sleep in a proper bed and drink good ale for a few days, before he would ride to the Golden Mountains. He didn’t particularly like the area at this time of the year. There was too much mud.

“I’m afraid I require your services,” said the man. His assistant, the boy that had stopped Eames on the street, had probably told Eames who he was. A lord of some sort. Eames hadn’t listened, because he was on a goddamn vacation. “It’s important.”

He could have walked away. Probably. The guards on the door didn’t look too competent. And he could have done it politely, maybe use the same phrases when ladies invited him to their bedrooms.  _ I have a terrible headache. I have an incurable disease and I’ve lost all my strength. Unfortunately, I have caught a very bad flu. My horse is sick and needs my attention.  _ Or, which often was true _ , I’m sorry but I’m not the kind of man you’re looking for. _

But the lord in a fancy purple shirt seemed to think he was looking for a man exactly like Eames. And he was right about that.

“I’m listening,” Eames said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t listening very eagerly.

“I can’t talk about it here,” the lord of some sort said.

Eames was taken to a smaller room. The lord sent the guards away.

“It came here in the summer,” the lord said in a whisper, which probably was wise, because the guards clearly were lingering behind the door. “We think it came through the mountains. Maybe it ran out of food. Or… or something else. You see, our boys began to disappear.”

“Your boys?” That wasn’t what the men in the tavern had been saying.

“Our young men,” the lord said. “The youngest was seventeen. Barely more than a boy. First, we thought it was eating them. And maybe it is. But, you see, then one of them escaped.”

“Yeah?” Eames had heard about it, about a man who had lost his mind to the creature and had to be kept locked in his room now.

“Yes.” The lord cleared his throat. “My boy.”

Oh. There was the catch. “Your son?”

“Yes. My oldest. He’s nineteen. He’s… he’s fallen into madness because of this thing.”

“So,” Eames asked slowly, because the man already seemed shaken, “what kind of madness is that? Is he violent?”

“No,” the man said with a grimace. “No, he’s… trying to get back to it.”

“He’s trying to get back to the creature.”

“Yes.”

“How did he escape?”

“We don’t know,” the man said. “We think maybe they struggled. My son is a very skilled fighter, of course. But what he says is…”

“Yes?”

“He says that he didn’t escape. That he wasn’t kept in there. But he thought we would be worried, my wife and I, and he came back to tell us why he had gone.”

“And why had he gone?”

“Because he –“ The lord cleared his throat and straightened his back. “My boy is the only one who’s come back. We’ve lost six men to this thing by now. You have to help us.”

“And what do you want me to do?” Eames asked.

“Six hundred marks if you kill it,” the lord said.

Eames took a deep breath. This seemed like a tiresome job. But at least he wouldn’t need to listen to the men talking nonsense in the tavern anymore. And he needed money. He always needed money. His horse ate a lot.

“Fine,” he said.

  
  


**

  
  


Eames and Grey spent the next day walking here and there in the forests that cornered the town in the North and in the East. They both were in a bad mood. Grey was unhappy because she had had to leave the friends she had made in the stables of the guesthouse – a skill Eames had always been a bit jealous of in his horse. If one of them was a lovely person, it was definitely Grey. But now the mare just kept swishing her tail in a silent despair, and Eames was equally silent, wondering why he had chosen this career. He could’ve been a baker, or a salesman, or a tailor. Or not, which was precisely why he had ended up hunting monsters for a living.

He wasn’t certain how to find this particular one, though.  _ The thing in the woods _ , the men in the tavern had said.  _ A fairy king perhaps. It hunts pretty men, fucks them and kills them. _ Someone had said they had heard it had a snow-white skin like a vampire and its eyes were white as well, to which someone had said they had heard its skin was green and it was more of a reptile than a man but it charmed men so they couldn’t move. Some had said it ate the men it caught, either alive or dead, and all had agreed it only liked pretty men.

The problem was that Eames wasn’t a pretty man. He wasn’t completely unhappy about his looks, even though he would have gladly got rid of a few scars. But he wasn’t  _ pretty _ , either. And he had learned long ago that when drunkards talked about monsters, there was a lot of bullshit but some truth, too. In this case, he had a feeling that the truth was that the monster liked pretty men. It wouldn’t like Eames, then, which would make killing it easier but finding it harder.

They walked the whole day, he and Grey, and at night they slept under the pine trees. The ground was cold and moist and when the morning finally came, Eames tried to make himself believe he would find the monster today. He would kill it, ride back to the town, collect his reward and then sleep in a nice warm bed for at least three more nights. Perhaps he was finally getting old.

Things didn’t go quite like that.

  
  


**

  
  


It was just a shadow in the corner of his eye, something that would have disappeared if he had turned to look. He didn’t. He had been hunting monsters for a long time and he knew what he was doing, so he kept his face grim and Grey’s walking steady and congratulated himself silently. He wasn’t certain if it had been he who had found the monster or the monster who had found him, but the result would be the same. He was in a bit of a hurry, though, because it was evening already, and he really wanted to sleep in a proper bed tonight. He would have to kill it quickly.

He stopped Grey, dismounted and sat down on a stone covered in moss. The shadow got closer to him and he ignored it. Maybe he was a little bit pretty after all. He ate half a slice of bread and then had a short conversation with Grey about whether it would be worth to go to Golden Mountains at all, because frankly, the amount of mud would be unbearable. Grey didn’t voice an opinion. Eames stroked her neck and realised there was someone standing behind him. He couldn’t see the shadow, but he felt it.

He took a deep breath. Just another monster. He had seen plenty of those.

There was a soft touch on his shoulder.

He stayed still. The touch was warm, like a human’s, like human hands settling lightly on his shoulders, then reaching down on his chest, inch by inch, carefully as if he was a foal that might get spooked. He held his breath. Three more seconds, two, one -

He jumped up, turned and grabbed the monster by its neck.

“Stop,” the monster said in a broken voice, its heartbeat flapping against Eames’ squeezing hands. “ _ Stop. _ ”

Eames didn’t stop but maybe he eased his grip a little. He had seen a lot of monsters, and few of them were as dangerous as they were rumoured to be. “What’re you?”

“I can’t…” the monster said, “…breathe…”

Eames kept his left hand on the monster’s neck and with his right hand, he pressed the edge of his knife against the point where its heart was beating. “The people in the town are missing their sons. Have you killed them all?”

“No,” the monster said, “please…”

“Do you have them?”

The monster blinked. Its eyes were so dark they seemed almost black, and it was looking Eames in the eyes.

“Where are they?”

“…breathe…”

“Fine,” Eames said and let go of the thing’s throat but pushed it to the ground, face down, then sat down on its back and pressed the knife lightly against its neck again. “Now, tell me.”

The monster was shaking under him. “They wandered into the woods.”

“And what? Did you eat them?”

“And nothing. No.”

“Did you kill them?”

“ _ No, _ ” the monster said. It kept its head down and didn’t fight, not even when Eames pressed the knife a little tighter against the skin.

Eames bit his lip. “Did you fuck them?”

The monster didn’t answer, so Eames pushed its face against the muddy ground with his elbow.

“Yes,” the monster said. “Yes. But it was… it wasn’t…”

“Did they ask for it?”

“I  _ have to _ . I…”

Eames shoved it with his elbow and heard it trying to catch its breath. “I’ve heard that before, you know. I don’t like it.” Usually, he heard it when he had a knife on someone’s throat. His job was to kill monsters, but often it turned out that the monster was someone’s father, or brother, or son. Or a daughter, occasionally. But not often. Usually, it was the men who bragged about it in the taverns in smug voices.

Sometimes he really hated his job.

He should be quick about this one. There was no reason for this to last any longer. He had the monster. It knew what it had done. It -

It was crying, only it sounded more like drowning, because it couldn’t really breathe.

Eames cleared his throat.  _ Fuck. _ He wasn’t supposed to care about the crying. He could just slice its throat open and the crying would stop.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Grey staring at him judgingly.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill you,” he said and then pulled the monster up from the muddy ground. It only began shaking more as it tried to catch its breath. He let it have a few good breaths and then took a firm grip of its shoulders and turned it around. “What do you mean you  _ had to? _ ”

“I need…” the monster said, its eyes moving back and forth on Eames’ face, “to eat.”

“To eat?”

It nodded.

“So, you ate them. The men who disappeared.”

“No.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Eames said and shook the monster a bit. It didn’t look like much of a monster. It was wearing elven clothes which seemed to be about to fall apart, its face was pale and narrow, and its eyes were in too deep and had dark rings under them, and it had bitten its lip so that it was bleeding. Or maybe that had happened when Eames had held its face against the ground. “You just said you needed to eat.”

“Not men,” the monster said. It was taking deep breaths now that Eames wasn’t shaking it anymore. Also, something had shifted in its gaze. “Not their meat.” It narrowed its eyes. “You’re immune.”

“To what?” Eames asked.

“To me,” the monster said, sounding surprised and confused.

Eames bit his lip. He was used to people calling him names, and this wasn’t the first time a monster he was hunting realised there was something wrong with him. But he didn’t like it. Only, before he had time to begin feeling very bad about it this time, the monster seemed to realise something. It fell onto its knees so quickly Eames fell down with it, trying to stop it from ending up its face in the mud again. “What’re you doing? What’s happening?”

“I shouldn’t have,” the monster said, sitting in the mud, and Eames was now sitting in the goddamn mud with it, for fuck’s sake. This wasn’t how he had wanted this day to turn out.

“Yeah,” he said and then sighed. “You shouldn’t have done what, exactly?”

It shook his head.

“Talk to me,” he said. “I can kill you anytime I want, so you should probably humour me.”

That didn’t seem to have much of an effect, but then again, the monster seemed pretty miserable already.

“I shouldn’t have tried you,” it said. “You’re immune. But no one’s immune.”

Eames stared at it for a few seconds. Grey stared at it, too. She clearly was already feeling sorry for it. The mare had always had more skill for empathy than Eames. He took a deep breath, then dragged the monster to its feet and half-carried, half-pulled it to the nearest tree, then set it sitting on the ground its back against the trunk. He sat down with it and held the knife pressed lightly against its chest. Not enough to hurt, though. Just enough that the creature would feel it.

“You’re going to explain it all to me,” Eames said, trying to sound both reassuring and threatening. Luckily, he was good at that. “From the beginning.”

“I’m going to die,” it said, blinking slowly. “In a few days. I’m starving.”

“I have food,” Eames said and then bit his lip. He wasn’t going to share his food with the monster before killing it, was he?

“I told you,” the thing said, “not meat. Men. But not meat.”

“What do you eat, then?” Eames asked. “Unless – oh, fucking hell, is that why you fuck them? You eat –“

“No,” the monster said, its dark eyes wide, “no, no, not the… it’s their feelings.”

Eames swallowed. Well, at least the monster didn’t live on spunk. Not that he hadn’t met weirder creatures in his travels. “Feelings?”

“Their admiration,” the monster said. It was now looking Eames in the eyes as if it was trying to plead with him. “I need it. It’s my…”

“You eat their admiration.”

It nodded.

“They admire you?” Maybe it was impolite to sound so disbelieving, but the monster didn’t seem offended.

“It’s the charm,” it said weakly. It really did look like it might starve to death in a few days, now that Eames had time to really look at it. “They think I am… and I need that. I need that or else I’ll die.”

“You need them to love you,” Eames said slowly.

“Not love,” the monster said, “it’s the charm. They don’t really…”

“You need men to love you or else you’ll die,” Eames said, then realised he was pressing the knife tighter against its chest now. He pulled the knife away but placed his hand on the monster’s shoulder instead, just to let it know it wasn’t going to have a chance if it tried to flee. “I’ve been hunting monsters for decades and I’ve never met anyone like you before. What  _ are  _ you?”

“I am -,” the monster paused, “I  _ was  _ a man.”

Eames took a deep breath.  _ Goddamn _ . “A man?”

“A long time ago,” it said, “in a different place. There was a witch in our village, and she tried… she did experiments on me. I ended up like this.”

Eames patted the monster on the shoulder. Grey had come slowly closer and was now standing next to it, obviously ready to try to make friends with it. The stupid horse. The stupid horse didn’t remember Eames was supposed to kill the thing, not to realise it wasn’t much different from himself. He, too, had been a man, a long time ago, in a different place. Then someone had made him something else without asking him, and now he had spent more than one lifetime riding across the continent, killing monsters for people who often were monsters themselves. Sometimes he wanted to quit, but there was nothing else he could do. He had been made to do this, and only this.

“Why are you immune to me?” the monster asked, as if it knew what Eames was thinking about.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Listen, I’m hungry and tired and we aren’t going to ride back to the town tonight. I’m going to tie you and then you’re going to sit quietly as long as I want. Alright?”

It nodded.

“Great. What’s your name?”

“Arthur,” it said.

  
  


**

  
  


He shouldn’t have asked about its name. That had been such a stupid thing to do, really.  _ Never ask a monster’s name if you’re going to kill it later. _ But Eames often did. Maybe that was why his life was so difficult.

It was sitting quietly in the ground, though, just like he had told it to do. He had tied its wrists together and then its ankles, too, even though he doubted it could walk if it tried. He had a feeling that it had spent its last energy trying to catch him, the poor bastard. Seducing Eames had probably been its last chance. Now it seemed to be more certain of its upcoming death than Eames was, which was worrying, since he was going to kill it. He  _ was. _ But not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

“Can you sleep?” he asked, when he was getting tired and Grey was already napping on her feet.

“Yes,” it said. “Will you kill me in my sleep?”

Well, that would’ve been a good idea. Too bad he hadn’t come up with it. “No.”

“What’re you going to do with me, then? You aren’t going to…”

“What?” Eames asked, when the silence had gone on for too long and Arthur was looking more scared than it had been ever since it had realised Eames was immune and it was going to die.

“Just kill me,” it said, its voice breaking down. “Just kill me, please. I won’t fight. Just do it.”

Eames blinked. “Why would you want –“

“I won’t -,” it said and cleared its throat, but it seemed to have trouble speaking. “Not anymore. I don’t want to be… something else. Don’t use me. Don’t… don’t cut me to… I know that men like you… they take pieces of us and put them in the jars and then… they build something new, but I can’t… I’ve already been here for a long time, I’m tired, I can’t…”

“I’m not going to do that to you,” Eames said, walking to it and sitting down on the ground in front of it. Shit, it was getting cold. It’d be a cold night. And he didn’t feel very good thinking about those things Arthur thought he might do to it. “And I’m not a man.”

“Don’t cut me,” Arthur said. “I don’t want to live in some… I don’t want to live inside a monster.”

“I won’t do that,” Eames said, “I promise. I swear to you.”

“Don’t…” Then Arthur finally seemed to realise what Eames had said. “You are a man.”

“No,” he said, even though he shouldn’t have, but he had always been oddly fond of breaking rules. “I’m a mutant. Not unlike yourself. Someone made me.”

Arthur stared at him.

“Now we’re going to sleep,” he said. “And neither of us is going to die at night.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said.

“Don’t thank me,” Eames said, “I’m going to kill you later.” Then he spread his better blanket on the ground and lay Arthur down on it with its wrists and ankles still tied, naturally, and then folded the corners of the blanket so that they covered Arthur. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. It didn’t look comfortable at all.

“Great,” Eames said and settled down on his other blanket a few feet away. “Good night.”

  
  


**

  
  


He woke up hours before the sunrise. It was so cold that when he stumbled onto his feet, he had trouble feeling his legs. He took a piss and then turned just to see Arthur looking at him.

“We’re going to fucking freeze in here,” he said. “You have my better blanket, so I don’t really have a choice.” Then he took his second blanket and set it down next to where Arthur was laying, then unfolded Arthur’s blanket and shifted as close to Arthur as he could. Arthur didn’t object. He wrapped his left arm around Arthur’s body and then covered them with both blankets the best he could, and then he slept.

  
  


**

  
  


He was holding someone in his arms. Well, that was odd. He definitely should wake up now and figure out what the hell was going on, but he was still half-asleep and it had been  _ ages  _ since he had had his face pressed against the warm skin on the back of someone’s neck, and he couldn’t bear to lose it just yet. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he didn’t really have his fingers wandering up and down a young man’s flat but nicely soft stomach. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he had eaten the wrong mushrooms again, which meant that Grey would kill him soon enough, so he might as well enjoy this a few moments more. Besides, when he would wake up, he would realise he was hunting that dumb monster that ate pretty young men and wouldn’t want to eat him, and that after killing it he would have to ride to the Golden Mountains, which would be a pain in the ass indeed. So, he would sleep for a few more minutes -

Fuck.

Eames opened his eyes. Grey was looking at him disapprovingly, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was that he had pushed his hand under Arthur’s shirt in his sleep and was now doing something obviously improper with the said hand. It seemed that he was caressing Arthur’s navel. And, to think of it, even that wasn’t the worst thing. The worst thing was that Arthur was clearly awake and aware of what Eames was doing.

Eames pulled his hand away and then got to his feet as quickly as he could. He wondered for a second why Arthur didn’t stand up, too. Arthur had to be scandalised about his behaviour. Then he remembered that he had tied Arthur.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’m very sorry, that was very impolite of me, I wasn’t… I was asleep when I did that, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” Arthur said. There was something weird about his tone, though.

“No,” Eames said, “of course it isn’t, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re going to kill me later, anyway,” Arthur said.

“Well, yes,” Eames said, clearing his throat, “but that’s different. That’s for my job. This was…” For pleasure, probably. Oh, damn. How long it had been since he had slept with someone? Five years? Maybe it was time.

“I’m feeling better,” Arthur said in a bleak voice.

Eames opened his mouth and then closed it again. “What?”

“A little better,” Arthur said. “Better than I have in, I don’t know, a week.”

Fuck. “You’re feeling better because I tried to molest you in my sleep?”

“You didn’t try to… For fuck’s sake, you just touched my stomach. I’ll live.” Arthur blinked. “Or probably I won’t, because you will kill me. But you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Eames said and then shook his head, “no, I shouldn’t have done it. I apologise.”

“And,” Arthur began slowly, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to say it or not, “it felt good. What you did. What you gave to me. When you held me in your sleep. It… I’ve never met a man who was immune to me before. What I got from them, it was always… it was because of the charm. It kept me alive. But this…”

“It was real,” Eames said and bit his lip hard enough that he tasted blood. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Yeah,” Arthur said slowly. “Fuck.”

“I should take you back to the town,” Eames said. “Maybe I could take you there alive. They could decide what they want to do with you. Maybe they wouldn’t –“

“No,” Arthur cut in, “no,  _ no,  _ you promised to kill me. If you take me there, it’ll be worse. It’ll be… You  _ promised  _ to only kill me.”

“But –“

“Kill me,” Arthur said, tried to sit up and fell onto his face. Eames knelt down and picked him up before he could drown in the mud. That would’ve been unfortunate. Or strictly speaking, that would’ve solved the problem, but Grey would’ve scowled at Eames for  _ weeks  _ for letting that happen. He wiped the mud from Arthur’s face and waited until he could feel Arthur breathing against his wrist, and then he tried to back away, but Arthur fell right back to the mud again.

“Bloody hell.”

“You should kill me now,” Arthur said when Eames picked him up from the mud again. “There’s no reason to postpone it. It’ll only be worse if I get better first.”

“I’m not postponing it,” Eames said, “I’m just thinking. Can you not fall onto your face?”

“Probably not,” Arthur said.

Fine, Eames would have to hold him up by his shoulders, then. Maybe it would be more comfortable if he sat on the ground behind Arthur’s back and held Arthur leaning against his body. He was quite certain his chest was nicer to lean against than a tree, anyway. And Arthur didn’t resist when he rearranged them. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “Where’s your knife? You could cut my throat. I’ve heard it’s a fast way.”

“You’ve heard that? Haven’t you ever killed anyone?”

“No,” Arthur said. “I wouldn’t know how to.”

Well, that was kind of very bad. “Listen, I need you to tell me everything about yourself. I need to know. And when you’ve answered my questions, we’re going to have breakfast.”

“I’m kind of having breakfast right now,” Arthur said in a quiet voice. He didn’t sound happy about it, probably because he knew he was going to die soon. But he didn’t sound too unhappy, either. And then Eames realised what Arthur had said and that he himself was kind of caressing Arthur’s stomach  _ again, _ only this time through his clothes. Well, that was an improvement. And Arthur didn’t seem to mind. And Eames’ fingers really were quite cold again. It was a chilly morning and he had had his fingers in the warmth of Arthur’s skin just a moment ago.

“So, how does it work?” Eames asked. “You meet a pretty young man, you seduce them with your charm, then sleep with them and feed on their feelings for you?”

Arthur shivered. Eames held him tighter against his chest. “Yes. Something like that.”

“Something like that?”

“I don’t… I can’t go to towns and villages because people… they realise I’m different. They get afraid and want to hurt me. I have to keep out of sight, so I don’t just  _ meet  _ men, I… I try to find them alone, I follow them until it’s safe, and then…”

“Then you attack.”

“Then I introduce myself.” Arthur drew in a long breath. “And we talk.”

“But when you came to me, you…” Eames cleared his throat. He could still feel the touch of Arthur’s hands on his chest when he thought about it. It was lucky that he was holding Arthur in his arms right now, because otherwise he might’ve gotten a little lonely at the memory. “You didn’t introduce yourself, you just touched me.”

“That was because… I was starving. I couldn’t… I wasn’t really thinking straight.”

“Clearly you weren’t,” Eames said. “Fine, then. Tell me more. You follow a man, talk to him, then what?”

“Then I sleep with him,” Arthur said. His voice was quiet, but Eames could feel the words as a rhythm in his chest.

“You always sleep with them?” He held Arthur a little tighter.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “It’s the most efficient way. The feelings are the strongest right after I’ve… slept with them. But we also… you know.”

“I know?”

“Kiss. And talk. And hold each other.”

Eames wondered if perhaps he ought to stop holding Arthur, but then Arthur would’ve fallen to the mud, so there was really no point. “And what about then?”

“Time goes,” Arthur said. “They lose interest. Or the charm weakens. But they always leave anyway. One stayed for half a year, I think. I almost thought it was… but it wasn’t. He left like the others. One day, they just realise they don’t love me after all, and then they wander off.”

“Wander off to the woods,” Eames said, “that’s what you said happened to the men from the town.”

“They’re empty,” Arthur said in a very quiet voice, “I guess they’ve emptied all their love in me, and then they just… don’t remember who they are. They’ve lost themselves. That’s probably why they don’t find the way back.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah, well.” Arthur was silent for a long time. “I’ve tried to starve myself. But in the end, it’s like there’s some damage in my mind. When I’m hungry enough, when I’m close to death, I stop thinking about anything else but survival. I forget why I wanted to die. And I just want to live. I know it’s weakness but…”

“I suppose we’re built that way,” Eames said slowly. “At the edge of death, we fight to live.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, took a deep breath and then rested his head against Eames’ shoulder, baring his throat. “But you can do it. I’m not starving now. I’m getting better. I can think. I remember why I wanted to die. And you’re going to kill me anyway. Do it now. Do it and don’t give me to the villagers. They’d cut me open and worse.”

Maybe they wouldn’t cut Arthur open. That might be beyond their imaginative capabilities. But they would certainly torture Arthur. “I have to think about this.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Arthur said. “You found me to kill me.”

“I have elaborately killed hundreds of men,” Eames said. “You haven’t killed anyone.”

“I have, in a way.”

“You can’t help it.”

“I could send them away sooner,” Arthur said, “I think I could, I’m not sure, maybe they wouldn’t leave before the charm would’ve sucked all their love out of them. But I could try. It’s only that I…”

“You what?” Eames asked in a quiet voice. There was mud stuck on Arthur’s face. Eames should wipe that away.

“I always begin to hope it’d be real this time,” Arthur said. He was shaking again. “It never is. And I always hope it is.”

Eames thought about that for a moment. “But you don’t really care about them. You just want to feed on them.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, “I don’t know, maybe the charm affects me, too. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve lived alone for decades. I’m tired of being alone. The thought of someone actually loving me is…”

“Like a knife in the heart,” Eames said.

Arthur didn’t answer. For a moment Eames thought Arthur was crying again, and he didn’t want that, definitely not, Grey would never forgive him if he made Arthur cry twice in two days. “It’s alright,” he said in his most soothing voice, stroking Arthur’s hair. “It’s alright. I’ll figure something out. But I need to eat breakfast. Can you sit?”

“No,” Arthur said. He wasn’t crying, thank god. “You’ve tied me up, remember?”

“Oh,” Eames said, “yes, of course. I’ll lay you down on the blanket. Just for a short while, when I eat.”

“Okay,” Arthur said.

It was a little weird, having breakfast when Arthur was lying on his back a few feet away, looking like a man who knows he’s about to die soon and can’t decide if it’s worse than living in sorrow and soul-eating loneliness. Eames certainly knew the feeling. He had never liked it. He kept glancing at Arthur and Arthur was always looking back at him. Arthur didn’t seem angry, though, no, he looked at Eames with almost… kindness.

Eames finished his breakfast and still didn’t have a goddamn clue what to do.

  
  


**

“We’re going for a ride,” Eames said. It was almost midday already and he still hadn’t managed to kill Arthur. He was disappointed in himself so many ways that it was hard to analyse them all, and going for a ride was his favourite way of not dealing with emotions.

“What’s your name?” Arthur asked.

Eames glanced at him, then took the saddle and put it on Grey. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I thought I did.”

Arthur didn’t answer that. Eames fastened the girth and then glanced over his shoulder, just to make certain Arthur wasn’t injured or something. Arthur was staring at him. Luckily, Arthur seemed perfectly healthy for someone so pale, thin and tied up. “It’s Eames.”

“Eames,” Arthur said in a somewhat dark voice, and Eames turned quickly to Grey. “Where’re we going?”

“I don’t know. We’ll get some fresh air.”

“I’ve slept outdoors for two weeks.”

“I’ll put you on Grey,” Eames said. “Don’t worry, she’s very gentle when she’s not pissed about something.”

“I know how to ride a horse,” Arthur said. “You might need to untie my ankles, though.”

“Sure,” Eames said. “Just don’t try to run.”

“Of course not,” Arthur said.

Eames swallowed. Grey was staring at him as if she was wondering what the hell he was doing, which coincidentally what exactly what he was wondering himself. He walked to Arthur, cut the ropes wrapped around Arthur’s ankles with his knife and then helped Arthur to stand up. After a few steps, Arthur swayed a little, so Eames wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist and helped him to Grey. Then he lifted Arthur to the saddle and held him there until he was certain Arthur wasn’t going to fall off.

“I told you I know how to ride,” Arthur said.

“You’re still weak,” Eames said. “Just be careful.”

Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it again, which was great, because Eames didn’t want to hear whatever that was. He had enough problems already. He made sure he had everything packed in the saddlebags, and then he patted Grey on the neck and Arthur on the thigh, grabbed the reins and started walking.

It was a nice day, which was rare. At least he didn’t have to worry about Arthur getting wet in the rain. He kept his eyes on the trees that were pleasantly bleak in this time of a year. In a month there would be snow. He hated snow. But he would be far in the South then, far over the Golden Mountains, far away from the town and its stupid people.

It was quite clear that he had a few options. One was to kill Arthur. It would be simple enough. He could be nice about it. Maybe he could hold Arthur when he would do it so that Arthur wouldn’t have to be alone. He could have his arms wrapped around Arthur and then he would put his knife into Arthur’s heart, very neatly, and that would be it.

Or, he could take them both the fuck out of here.

He didn’t feel very well. Maybe he had eaten something rotten at breakfast. Or maybe he had caught the flu. That happened to him every other decade.

“Eames,” Arthur said, when they had been walking for some time and Eames was beginning to think it actually was the flu.

“Hmm.”

“Where do you live?”

He almost missed a step. “What?”

“I’m just making conversation,” Arthur said. “Where do you live?”

“Nowhere.”

“Really?”

Eames cleared his throat. Grey was throwing pitying glances at him, but he ignored her. “I had a home once. When I was a kid. And I’ve had a few when I’ve been… like I am now. But nothing’s lasted.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing,” Eames said, clearing his throat again. “Really. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine. I’m better than fine. I’m…” But he couldn’t figure out another way to tell Arthur that he was fine even though he didn’t have a home and hadn’t had one in a long time and didn’t know how to get one, not anymore, and he was beginning to think that he was fundamentally incapable. So, he kept quiet.

“I think,” Arthur said after a short silence, “that if I didn’t have to move around all the time, I’d like to have a small place somewhere. A roof over my head. A nice roof. I’ve done some woodwork when I’ve had a chance. I’d like to make furniture.”

“You have nice hands,” Eames said.

“Thank you.”

“I mean, I can believe you make great woodwork.”

“Thank you. So, you hunt monsters for a living.”

Eames nodded.

“Have you ever done anything else?”

Eames shook his head.

“I bet that’s hard work.”

“Yeah,” Eames said.

“And lonely.”

Eames shrugged.

“But I hope you like it.”

“I’m very good at it,” Eames said and ignored the way Grey looked at him.

“Clearly,” Arthur said.

“Maybe,” Eames said and then bit his lip. He shouldn’t. But he could feel Arthur looking at him quietly, as if whatever he was going to say mattered somehow. It had been a long time since someone besides Grey had looked at him like that. Usually, people just wanted him to kill their monsters and then fuck off. And they were afraid of him even when they were paying him. “Maybe that’s because I am one.”

“You’re a what?”

“I’m a monster.”

“No,” Arthur said in a quiet voice.

“I’m not a human. The people who made me, they…” Eames rubbed his nose. He shouldn’t talk about this. He never talked about this. It wasn’t like talking could change anything. “They took everything out and rearranged it. I don’t even know if I can get old.”

“Not being a human doesn’t make you a monster.”

“I have done awful things.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“I’ve done them for money.”

“Well, everyone’s got to eat,” Arthur said.

“Sometimes I wish I had someone to talk to,” Eames said. “I mean, Grey is great. But she’s quiet. And humans are scared of me. They either want me to kill monsters for them or they want to hear about me killing monsters.”

“I bet they want something else, too,” Arthur said in a light voice. “In some occasions.”

“Well,” Eames said, “yes, maybe. In some occasions. If you mean… but I don’t do that very often. It’s so inconvenient, sleeping with a human. Eventually I find them looking at me like they want to open me and see what is inside.”

“You could ignore that,” Arthur said, but he didn’t sound certain.

“I do,” Eames said, then thought about it all for a while. “Why’re we talking about…”

“Your sexual habits,” Arthur said. “Did you want to talk about something else?”

“I don’t know,” Eames said. “Why’re you talking to me like this?”

“No reason.”

Eames stared at the trees ahead. They seemed very normal. “I like it.”

“Good,” Arthur said. He sounded genuinely delighted. No one was genuinely delighted about talking with Eames, unless Eames had just told them terrible stories about monsters he had killed in imaginative ways. “Eames, I’m getting cold.”

“Really?” Eames stopped Grey and turned to Arthur. “Do you need a blanket? It might help.”

“Eames,” Arthur said. His voice was oddly soft, and he was looking at Eames as if he had just caught Eames doing something stupid.

Eames straightened his back. “What?”

“What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he said and then cleared his throat. “I’m going to give you the blanket.” He found the blanket as quickly as he could and then had to try a couple of times until he managed to throw it over Arthur’s shoulders and not Arthur’s head. Arthur might’ve helped if he hadn’t been tied up. Eames made sure that the blanket wouldn’t fall off, and then he started walking again, trying to look like he didn’t want to talk with Arthur anymore. It apparently worked, because Arthur didn’t say anything in hours. That was great. That was fucking brilliant. That was exactly what Eames had wanted, and he was perfectly happy to walk in silence, only sometimes he changed a look with Grey and knew the horse didn’t believe him.

  
  


**

  
  


At nightfall, they weren’t considerably further away from the town than in the morning, but they hadn’t gone closer to it, either. Eames didn’t know what to think about that, so he tried not to think about it at all. Also, he tried not to think about killing Arthur, because it was becoming a little obvious that wasn’t going to happen. He lifted Arthur off the horse, which went smoothly, because they had already done this a couple of times during the day, when Eames had needed a break to take a piss or eat. Now he made sure Arthur was standing steadily on his own two feet, and then he stepped back and realised Arthur’s hands weren’t tied anymore.

“Really?” Arthur said, sounding very tired. “You must’ve realised I’ve been in trouble before. People have tried to kill me. And I’m fucking  _ old _ , Eames. I’ve had time to learn. I can get my hands free.”

“That’s…” Eames said. “Sorry.”

“About underestimating me?” Arthur asked. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So, you…” Eames said and took a deep breath. “Nothing’s holding you back now. You can escape.”

“Yes,” Arthur said.

“You could run.”

“You’re probably faster than me.”

“Well, maybe,” Eames said and took a step back. “I’ve been walking for the whole day. I’m kind of tired.”

“Bullshit,” Arthur said.

“I think that maybe I’m going to ride to the mountains tomorrow,” Eames said. “I hate the mud. But I hated the town, too. People who live there are so… they just want me to kill things.”

“That’s your job.”

“Maybe I want to take a few days off.”

“I like your horse,” Arthur said. “She’s very polite.”

“I liked talking to you,” Eames said.

Arthur nodded. Eames nodded, too. Maybe this was how they were going to say goodbye. He hated goodbyes amongst many other things, so he kind of hoped that Arthur would just go, right now. He already knew he would be goddamn angry at everything and everyone for some time. That always happened when he liked someone and then lost them. It was best to get over with it.

“Eames,” Arthur said, still standing there, unmoving as if he had forgotten how to, “I don’t feel like leaving right now. It’s cold and I’m tired and my wrists are itching.”

Eames swallowed. “Okay.”

“And I don’t like to be in the woods alone at night,” Arthur said. “Bad memories.”

“I thought you lived in the woods.”

“Well,” Arthur said, “yes.”

“But,” Eames said, “it’s going to be cold. I wouldn’t want you to be in the cold, alone, without a blanket. But I can’t give you one. I only have two.”

“Of course,” Arthur said.

“Maybe it’d be practical if you stayed for the night.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t stay.”

“I don’t really want to go.”

“Well, then,” Eames said and cleared his throat. Grey was staring at him. Arthur was staring at him, too, and it was all a bit too much. He turned and started building the fire, and from behind his back he could hear Arthur’s steps coming closer.

“How did you do that?” Arthur asked, when Eames had lit the fire. His breath felt warm on the back of Eames’ neck.

“Magic.”

“You know magic?”

“A little.”

Arthur was silent for a long time. Eames kept his eyes on the fire and tried to ignore the feeling that Arthur was kneeling on the ground right behind him, so close that if he turned -

“You could fix me,” Arthur said, his voice barely audible. “With your magic.”

“No,” Eames said and then more felt than heard Arthur backing away. “I don’t know how to. But also… magic rarely fixes things. Usually it just messes them up.”

“I understand,” Arthur said in a bleak voice.

Eames stood up. “I need to eat something, and then we should sleep.”

“Alright,” Arthur said.

“You could… or not. I won’t tell you what to do.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, and then Eames could hear him taking a step away from him. He wasn’t hungry, but he wasn’t going to make any rash decisions, either. He was cleverer than that. He had obviously decided not to kill Arthur and he was going to be sensible about it. They could talk about this, he and Arthur and Grey. Just talk.

He turned, walked to Arthur and took Arthur’s face in between his hands. Arthur’s head felt small and fragile, almost like a human’s, but Arthur’s eyes were too dark and too lonely for a human. Humans didn’t live long enough to get lonely like that. Good for them. Eames pushed the strands of hair from Arthur’s face. If only they could’ve been in a nice little tavern with a nice little room with a bathtub filled with water almost too warm, then he would’ve washed Arthur clean from all the mud that Arthur clearly hated having on his skin and in his hair. There would’ve been candlelight and he would’ve carried Arthur to the bed with clean sheets smelling of goddamn flowers and then he would’ve made Arthur feel good.

He leaned closer to Arthur until it was obvious he had crossed every line anyone could think of. Arthur didn’t flinch.

“I might be a little clumsy about this,” he said.

“I don’t care,” Arthur said. He was looking at Eames like he wanted to eat Eames.

“I don’t want you to be cold.”

“I have been cold before.”

Eames shook his head. “That doesn’t help at all.”

“I heard you have two blankets,” Arthur said in a tone that sounded so hopeful it twisted something in Eames that he had tried to bury for at least twenty-five years. And a fucking terrible job he had done with that.

He held Arthur in place but as gently as he could, and then he moved closer until he could feel Arthur’s breath on his face and couldn’t say anything without their mouths brushing together. Not that he would’ve known what to say anyway. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure enough courage to kiss Arthur, and then Arthur kissed him.

He didn’t want Arthur to be cold, but he had trouble trying to handle the blankets. When he finally had them on the ground and Arthur lying on them, he couldn’t understand why the bloody fucking hell they hadn’t done this earlier. He should’ve realised this would happen the moment he saw Arthur in the woods. He should have known. He kissed Arthur and then let Arthur flip them the other way around so that he was lying flat on his back and Arthur was on him, his fingers playing on Eames’ neck as if he might strangle Eames if he wanted to, as if he could slit Eames’ throat as easily as humans kill monsters once they’ve managed to catch them. Without another thought.

“Come here,” Eames said. “Let me.” He sounded hoarse and breathless and like he was in such a hurry that he had absolutely no idea what to do. But Arthur let him. He got onto his knees and held Arthur against the ground and then kissed Arthur’s too flat stomach and trembling thighs before he took Arthur’s cock in his mouth. He had Arthur’s fingers in his hair, tugging lightly. He had Arthur’s thumb stroking his left cheek. He had his own heart growing heavy as if it hadn’t been broken and used and worn out for a lifetime. He had forgotten what it was like to have someone unravel in your hands.

Later, he wrapped them in the blankets and held Arthur as close to him as was possible, and then he slept.

  
  


**

  
  


When he woke up, there was a blade of a sword pressed against his throat.

It took him a second to realise Arthur was just now stirring awake in his arms. First, he was relieved, then so angry at himself for being relieved that he missed two more seconds.

“Should’ve known,” someone said from behind his back in a voice equally filled with spite and disgust, and then something hit the back of his head and everything went dark.

  
  


**

  
  


There was blood in his mouth. He tried to open his eyes, but it turned out the left one only opened half-way. For a second he thought he had fallen onto his face  _ again _ . Grey would be so disappointed. Then he remembered waking up in the forest, Arthur still in his arms and someone else’s blade on his throat.

Fuck.

He managed to get onto his feet, leaning against the cold stone wall. He was probably at the fancy house again, only this time a few floors down. There was something similar about the smell. He wasn’t surprised at all that whoever had brought him here had taken their chance at kicking him in the face while he had been unconscious, but he was glad he still seemed to have all his teeth intact. He had probably broken a rib and his left ankle was quite useless for a moment, but those things would heal. If he got out of here alive, of course.

There was a tiny window on the door. He tried to peer through it with his good eye but could see nothing, so he tried shouting. “Hey! Where’re the fuck is my horse?”

“Shut up!” someone shouted back at him, so clearly his tactic was working.

“If you do anything to Grey, I will kill you,” he answered in his most convincing voice, but the silence that answered him wasn’t very convincing. Then again, this kind of ordinary people sometimes feared magic more than swords, because they knew nothing of it. “I’ll cast a spell on you and the curse will hunt your family for centuries.”

There was a short silence, then steps coming closer. “You don’t know that kind of magic.”

He laughed quietly enough that the idiot standing on the other side of the room would barely hear it. “Try me.”

“Your horse is fine,” the idiot said in a tone that suggested he had tried to be brave and failed.

“What about –,” Eames drew in a breath.  _ Arthur. _

“Still alive,” the idiot said, but his voice was colder now. “Really, we should’ve known you’d be just like him. Your lot, you just can’t help yourself. You look like humans, but you really are nothing more than beasts, right, I bet you didn’t even mean to kill him, you couldn’t wait to get fucked by him,  _ right? _ ”

Well, it was fortunate that the idiot was a talker, too. Those were usually the easiest. “Listen, lad.”

“I’m not a lad,” the talker said, then seemed to think about it, “I mean, I’m not a lad  _ to you _ , monster, I’d never do anything like that, I’d never even think about –“

“You’re going to take me to wherever you’re keeping Arthur,” Eames said, “or I’ll turn your wife into a goat.”

The talker was silent for a few seconds, apparently thinking about how the hell Eames had guessed he had a  _ wife. _ “Who’s Arthur?” Okay, thinking about that.

“The monster in the woods.”

“Oh.” Another short silence. Eames said a few words in an old Northern dialect to rush things a little. “Don’t,” the talker said, “please, don’t, don’t hurt my wife, that’s… I’ll take you if you swear not to kill me.”

Eames pretended to think about that. “I swear. As long as you don’t hurt me or Arthur.”

“Arthur?”

Fucking hell. “The monster in the woods.”

“ _ Oh,”  _ the talker said, “yeah. Of course. I’ll take you to him.”

“Great,” Eames said. “Thank you very much.”

He took a few steps backwards when the door opened. The man standing in the doorway looked scared enough already, so he only gave the man his mildly threatening stare. The poor idiot would spend the next weeks worried that his wife would suddenly turn into a goat, which might be a strain on the marriage. That was enough of a punishment for now.

“This way,” the man said and then walked the corridor with Eames, looking like he was afraid Eames might turn him into a rabbit. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Eames said, when the man pushed him to another cell with trembling hands and barred the door behind him.

Eames blinked. This cell had even less light than the last one, and it took him a moment to realise the dark lump leaning against the wall in the corner was Arthur.

“Hi,” he said, kneeling onto the floor in front of Arthur. Arthur smelled of blood and shit and piss that probably wasn’t all his own. His hands were chained to the wall and his shoulders looked like they weren’t supposed to be in that position, but he was breathing. He was fucking breathing alright, and Eames was going to get him fixed as soon as they got out of here. “Arthur? Can you talk? I’m here now. I’m –“

Arthur shifted.

Eames leaned closer and pushed Arthur’s sticky hair out of his face as carefully as he could. The most of it was probably sweat and mud, not blood. But he couldn’t be sure, not in this light. Arthur’s face was all bruises and there was blood on his chin, but nothing seemed broken. He rested his palm on the side of Arthur’s face and stroked Arthur’s cheekbones with his thumb. “Hi. I –“

Arthur bit him in the wrist.

He fell backwards mostly because of the surprise, and before he could realise what was happening, Arthur was kicking him in the groin. Or trying to, because it seemed Arthur couldn’t really hold his weight on his feet.

“Hey,” he said when Arthur groaned with pain, “stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself, it’s just me –“

“ _ You _ ,” Arthur spit out, freezing. “You fucking  _ sold me out. _ ”

Eames blinked. “What?”

“You promised to kill me,” Arthur said in a voice so hoarse that Eames could barely make sense of the words, “but instead you pretended to like me and fucked me and tricked me and then had them take me and –“

“No,” Eames said and reached to grab Arthur’s face, only Arthur tried to bite him again. “ _ No _ , it wasn’t like that. You were there, you  _ saw  _ it, they hit me with something.”

“What I saw,” Arthur said, “was a bunch of those men kicking me when I was still lying down, and I couldn’t see you, you didn’t say a fucking word or try to stop them –“

“I was knocked out,” Eames said, “I woke up first and they hit me in the head. I didn’t trick you, Arthur, I would never, I would never hurt you –“

“You were supposed to kill me,” Arthur said, but his voice was faltering now. “You promised you wouldn’t give me to them.”

“I didn’t fucking  _ give you  _ to anyone.” He held Arthur’s face and this time Arthur didn’t even bite him. “You’ve got to trust me.”

“I did,” Arthur said. “I  _ did. _ ”

“I know, darling, I’m sorry, I –“

“I’m not your darling,” Arthur said, then grimaced with pain.

“Your shoulder is dislocated,” Eames said, crawling closer to him on the floor. “I’m going to fix it. But it’s going to hurt. You can bite me if you want.”

“I don’t –,” Arthur said and then shouted with pain when Eames grabbed his shoulder with both hands and put it back where it should be. Then suddenly what was left was them both breathing heavily.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, eyes half-open. “Tell me you didn’t sell me out.”

“I didn’t sell you out,” Eames said, running his fingers on Arthur’s face. “Nothing’s broken in here. What else? Where does it hurt?”

Arthur looked at him for a few seconds, then seemed to give up. “My side. They kicked me a lot. And my ankle isn’t good.”

“I probably can’t do anything about those here,” Eames said, “but I know a few charms that help with the pain.” He pulled Arthur’s shirt up and tried his side with his hands as gently as he could. Arthur hissed under his touch.

“I thought you sold me out.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Arthur’s ankle was swollen badly enough that Eames couldn’t figure out if there was something more seriously wrong with it. “But I didn’t. I was never going to do anything worse than kill you.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“I didn’t.”

“When did you -,” Arthur said and then took a deep breath, when Eames cast the charm. It would only last for a few hours and it wouldn’t take away all the pain, but it was the best he could do for now. “When did you decide?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should’ve killed me right away. When I came to you. You could’ve done it then.”

“Yeah, well,” Eames said, sat down on the stone floor next to Arthur and then carefully wrapped his arms around Arthur so that he could hold the most of Arthur’s weight. “I often try to talk with monsters first. It’s one of my weaknesses.”

“Was it something I said?”

“It was just -,” Eames paused. Arthur really smelled terrible but then again, Eames probably did, too. “It was just you.”

“Me,” Arthur said.

“Me and you,” Eames said, pressing a light kiss on Arthur’s neck. Arthur tasted of sweat and blood, but mostly sweat, thank god. “We could’ve been the other way around. You could’ve been the monster killing monsters and I could’ve been the one trying to seduce them.”

“I’d have sucked at being you,” Arthur said in a somewhat blurred voice. “And you would’ve been perfect at being me.”

“Nonsense.”

“I should’ve met you earlier,” Arthur said. His head was tilting oddly to the side and he was heavy in Eames’ arms. “You’re better than any of them.”

“Don’t worry,” Eames said and kissed Arthur’s ear. There was blood on it, too. “We’re going to get out of here, and then we’re going to go some place where people aren’t so stupid. I’m going to find a nice little cot for us and you’re going to get to make your woodwork. You can make, I don’t know, spoons. Whatever you like. And we’ll have a garden. We’ll get you a horse so Grey will have a friend. I’ll probably have to hunt monsters sometimes, for money, but you don’t have to… I’ll be there. Don’t worry. I’m going to figure something out. I’m very good at that. I always figure something out.”

  
  


**

  
  


This time, he didn’t figure something out.

He did break someone’s nose, though, when a bunch of men dressed in cheap armour came later to kick Arthur in the side again. But it didn’t help much. At night, Arthur was breathing in a broken rhythm, his wrists still chained to the wall, and the only reason why Eames was allowed to remain unchained and hold him probably was that the idiots still were a little scared of him and therefore hadn’t bothered to try to chain him, not after all the hassle with the broken nose.

He told Arthur about the horse he would buy for Arthur and the place they would build and the garden they would have and the sky that would be high above their heads, and the mountains and the rivers and the trees and the grass. Arthur usually snorted. But once, when Eames was talking about going fishing, Arthur arranged himself to a very weird angle and then waited in a slightly pained silence until Eames figured out Arthur wanted to get kissed by him. The kiss tasted of blood, but it was the most romantic kiss Eames had ever had.

The next day, the lord of some sort came to see Eames and Arthur. He looked very disappointed but not surprised, and he told them that he was going to get them both hanged that afternoon. Eames told him he was being unreasonable and that he could just let them go, they would go silently and never bother him again. Eames would personally take care that Arthur’s appetite wouldn’t be a trouble in this area of the continent. But the lord of some sort ignored him and left. Arthur didn’t say anything, which probably was because he was only half-conscious.

In the afternoon, eight men and a very dissatisfied-looking dog came to fetch them. Eames tried to fight but the first man who came in hit him in the head so that he fell onto his knees and couldn’t do much after that. They took them to the yard, dragging him and half-carrying Arthur. He wanted to ask them about Grey but chose against it. It wouldn’t probably do any good. Grey was a great horse and when Eames was dead, Grey might even have a chance at retiring and making a nice life for herself. All things considered, even though he was a little unsatisfied about the circumstances of his upcoming death, and very unhappy that Arthur was going to die with him, and that he had been unable to save Arthur, he had had much worse scenarios for in his mind. This would be fast and simple enough.

He already had the rope loosely around his neck when something shifted in the courtyard. At first he didn’t realise what it was. Then he looked at Arthur, who was looking at the man who had just put the rope around Eames’ neck. Arthur’s eyes were open and he still looked like someone had recently kicked him half-dead, but there was something new in his posture.

“Let him go,” Arthur said.

The men seemed to think about it. The crowd who was following the situation from further away moved a little, like the grass when the wind blows suddenly.

“Let Eames go,” Arthur said. “And hang me.”

“No,” Eames said quickly, “no, don’t do that. I love you. I fucking love you.”

Arthur looked at him with something like a sad smile lingering in his gaze, then straightened his back in a gesture that seemed like it had hurt like hell, and stepped away from the guard that had been dragging him. The guard did nothing.

“Let him go,” Arthur said to the men who were about to hang them, “and I will stay.”

No one spoke. Eames looked up and saw the blue sky and underneath it, the lord of some sort looking at them through the window. The lord looked like he was very much trying to understand what was happening, and then he understood.

“No,” the lord shouted from the window, “don’t do that, he’s tricking you, don’t you remember what he is, he’s doing that thing to you –“

“Listen,” Arthur said to the man standing closest to him, raised his hand to rest on the man’s shoulder and kept it there, “you don’t want to kill the hunter. He did nothing wrong. He tried to kill me but I didn’t let him.”

“No,” Eames said, “fuck, no, that’s not how it went, I love him, he’s fucking brilliant, he’s better than any one of you –“

“Eames, shut the fuck up,” Arthur said and took the guard’s face in between his hands. Just like Eames had done to him. Eames swallowed and swallowed but something was stuck in his throat that he couldn’t get rid of. And his chest hurt even though no one had kicked him in there recently. Maybe it had something to do with his heart.

Arthur leaned closer, close enough to kiss the guard. But he didn’t. The guard kissed him.

“Let the hunter go,” the guard said to the other men. The crowd was staring with wide eyes. The lord of some sort was still shouting in the window, and Eames was a little worried that he might fall down.

Only, he was more worried about Arthur.

“Go,” Arthur said to him.

He stared at Arthur, then nodded and took a few steps. It felt like he was walking in chest-deep snow. He walked past the last guards and took a deep breath. Then he grabbed the closest sword he could reach and cut its owner’s neck with one move.

The crowd became a chaos of crying and fleeing people.

The guards attacked him, but they were slow, and he was Eames, he was the goddamn best hunter there had been in the continent for a hundred years, he was a mutant and a monster and he was in love for the first time since he had been young and foolish, and he wasn’t going to let them kill Arthur.

He killed two more men before the others realised they weren’t going to win and started running to hastily chosen directions.

“We have to get Grey,” he shouted to Arthur, who was just standing there like an idiot. Luckily, that was when Grey came galloping towards them. She had probably heard Eames losing his temper, which wasn’t a new thing at all, and he would be hearing about it later. But only later. Now, he lifted Arthur on the horse and then ran behind them shouting all the threats he could think about on such short notice. People seemed to be most afraid of those that had something to do with someone’s whole family turning into worms.

They ran out of the town and then for some time, before Eames realised no one was chasing after them.

“The men are going to let us go,” Arthur said, “they think they love me.” Then he passed out and fell off the horse.

  
  


**

  
  


The shack Eames found for them was very ugly, but luckily, it was night when they arrived and Arthur was in fever and barely conscious. Eames would have plenty of time to decorate the place until Arthur would be feeling good enough to take a good look at it in daylight. He carried Arthur inside and placed him with both of their blankets on the bed next to the window that wasn’t broken, and then he told Arthur not to worry and rode to the village nearby, where he knew a mage that owed him a favour.

“How long has he been like this?” the mage asked, when they were back in the shack and Arthur was muttering something neither of them could make sense of.

“For a few days.” They had been riding for a week, first through the woods, then over the Golden Mountains. Arthur had gotten better and then worse again, even though his wounds seemed to be healing and the swelling in his ankle had gone down. “Can you fix him?”

“I’ll try,” the mage said and gave Arthur so many potions Eames had to stop counting.

When the mage left, Eames settled lying on the bed next to Arthur, even though the bed was really a little too narrow for both of them. Arthur was breathing more steadily now. Outside the wind was moving gently in the branches of the pine trees and there was soft rain dancing on the roof.

  
  


**

Arthur woke up the next afternoon. Eames had spent the morning trying to fix the walls of the shack. It had clearly been abandoned a long time ago, but after he had managed to cover a few holes, it seemed almost presentable. He was wondering what to do about the door, when he heard Arthur calling his name.

“Where are we?” Arthur asked, when Eames sat down on the edge of his bed.

“In an abandoned shack near to the Cold River,” Eames said and tried Arthur’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Are you feeling better?”

“I think so.” Arthur placed the flat of his hand on Eames’ back as if making sure he really was there. “But I don’t remember much about the last days.”

“You had fever.”

“I was dreaming,” Arthur said. “I wasn’t sure what was real.”

“What did you dream about?”

Arthur was now drawing something on Eames’ back. “Men.”

Eames swallowed.

“Men that I knew. I can’t remember their faces. Some, yes, but not all.” Arthur’s fingers stopped. “Do you remember everyone you’ve killed?”

“No,” Eames said, “not a chance.”

“I think we should,” Arthur said.

Eames climbed onto the bed next to him and pushed him against the wall in the process. They should get a bigger bed at some point. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “Don’t go.”

“I have to fix our house,” Eames said. “There’re a few tiny details I wouldn’t want you to see. But it’s going to be great.”

“Eames,” Arthur said and stroked his arm, “you know we can’t stay in one place. Not for long. It’s not in our nature.”

“I’m going to go to see if Grey needs anything,” Eames said and climbed off the bed.

  
  


**

  
  


That night, he had just gotten to the bed when Arthur pushed his surprisingly cold fingers under his shirt. Eames took a deep breath and then caught Arthur’s hands, and Arthur answered by pressing his thigh against Eames’ crotch.

“You just had a fever,” Eames said to the crook of Arthur’s neck. “You can’t possibly be in a shape for a fuck.”

“Please,” Arthur said, his fingers sliding down under Eames’ trousers. He looked hungry, so Eames kissed him and then stripped them both naked except for their shirts, because the winter was coming and there were a few incredibly tiny holes left in the wall. Then he kissed his way down Arthur’s bruised sides as gently as he could. Arthur was tugging his hair with no bloody patience  _ at all. _ He got Arthur to shut up by kissing the inside of his thighs, but when he put his mouth on Arthur’s cock, Arthur started talking again.

“Eames,” Arthur said in a breathless voice, “Eames, come here.”

Eames pulled away to stare at him. “I’m trying to suck you.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Arthur said, his fingertips drawing circles against Eames’ scalp. “I want you to fuck me. Can you fuck me?”

Eames thought about that. “I’m a little worried about your condition.”

_ “Eames. _ ”

“Besides,” Eames said slowly, “I thought you did it the other way around.”

“Come on,” Arthur said, reaching in between their bodies and grabbing Eames’ cock in a not very subtle gesture. “ _ Please. _ You’ll be nice about it.

So, he fucked Arthur. And he tried to be nice about it, only he had some trouble trying to concentrate. Arthur wouldn’t get onto his knees so that the angle was a bit of a problem at first, but when they finally managed it, Eames was pretty content on Arthur’s choice to look him in the eyes while he was trying to fuck Arthur. It had been a while since he had done anything like this and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, but probably that was only because he loved Arthur, so there was nothing to be worried about. Or maybe there was everything to be worried about. But he would worry about that later, when Arthur wouldn’t be lying underneath him with his half-open lazy mouth and bruised face and flickering eyelids and beautiful hands that cling onto Eames’ back and didn’t let go until they were both finished.

“Arthur,” he said later, when he had failed to clean them and had instead napped holding Arthur in his arms. Now he felt like his skin was glued to Arthur’s, which wasn’t the worst possible scenario he could think of. “Arthur.”

“I’m sleeping,” Arthur said without opening his eyes.

“Arthur,” Eames said and pressed a few kisses under Arthur’s chin, “Arthur, is it enough that I love you?”

Arthur shifted closer to him on the bed. “We’ll see. Maybe.”

“Because I don’t want you to starve.”

“I’ve never been more comfortable in my life,” Arthur said, peered one eye open and kissed Eames on the mouth. “Do you realise you saved the both of us?”

“By killing three guards,” Eames said. “No, it was you, you charmed them to let us go.”

“I could only do it because you had made me so strong,” Arthur said. Now his both eyes were open and he was watching Eames in the dim cold moonlight that was sneaking to the shack through the windows. He looked like he wasn’t sure he was awake. “By loving me without a charm. Even after what they had done to me.”

“Of course I did,” Eames said, “of course I do. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe you don’t deserve it.”

Arthur blinked but didn’t stop looking at him.

“Because I don’t deserve it either.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “So, what you’re saying is that I should just accept it and not ask questions.”

“I’m saying,” Eames said, “that I’ve been around for a long time and if there’s something that I’ve learned, it’s that love is a rare thing. If it happens to you, you should take it.” He kissed Arthur on the mouth. “I need to take a piss. Try to sleep, you still look pretty miserable.”

“Shut up,” Arthur said.

Outside the shack the woods were quiet, and the moonlight was playing on the trees and on the ground, and on Eames’ arms, too. It seemed possible that he had said what he had said to Arthur only because he loved Arthur. He didn’t know anything about love. In his long years travelling around the continent and hunting monsters, he had learned mostly about death, swords and horses. But he wasn’t going to let Arthur think he wasn’t worth Eames’ love, when certainly that was impossible. If someone wasn’t worth love, it was Eames. But that wasn’t going to stop him. One day, they’d be dead, he and Arthur, like everyone else. He was going to fucking love Arthur first. He was going to love Arthur with all he had, which undoubtedly wasn’t much, but some people had said he had nice arms.

He checked that Grey was alright and went back to Arthur.


End file.
